


each day you'd rise with me

by blackkat



Series: Blyla Drabbles [3]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Marriage, F/M, Fox Is Sir Not Appearing In This Fic, Humor, Mutual Pining, Romance, Undercover as a Couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:28:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23070958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: “Bly,” Aayla says, maybe a little dazed. “Bly, we’remarried.”
Relationships: CC-5052 | Bly/Aayla Secura
Series: Blyla Drabbles [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1615657
Comments: 34
Kudos: 1012
Collections: Fun/Humour/Crack in a Galaxy Far Far Away, Star Wars Alternate Universes





	each day you'd rise with me

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt: Aayla/Bly - We need to pretend to be a married couple to get through the customs, and do you think these forged papers that say we are married are legally binding?

Aayla can’t stop looking at the forms. 

It’s not, as she would have thought a few hours ago, because they’re _marriage certificates_ , marking her and Bly as husband and wife. That was it to begin with, of course, because even if they’re solely for the sake of his mission, the sight of them still makes Aayla’s heart beat just a little faster than it should, warms something in the pit of her stomach. But—

 _But_. 

She’s been staring at them the whole time they’ve been waiting in the customs line, and _still_ something is niggling at her. There’s something off, something that isn’t quite unsettling but still manages to itch at the back of her mind. She looks them over once more, frowning, but whatever it is still escapes her. 

“Aayla?” Bly asks softly, and the press of a large hand against the small of her back shouldn’t make Aayla’s breath catch, but—Bly doesn’t touch her bare skin, ever. He’s incredibly careful, perfectly respectful, but right now he’s pressed against Aayla’s side, arm halfway around her, looking like any other travel-worn potential settler in the spaceport. His hand is on her spine, and she can feel the heat of his body pressed all along her side. 

Firmly pulling her mind from the unprofessional depths it wants to slide into, Aayla marshals herself, then casts him a smile, folding the flimsis again. “Who did you go through again?” she asks. “For the license.”

Bly blinks, then glances down at her, frowning faintly. The overhead lights catch on his tattoo, the streak of gold across his cheekbone that Aayla’s always wanted to kiss. “Fox,” he says after a moment, and the furrow of his brow makes Aayla want to press her thumb to it, smooth out the wrinkles. Bly worries too much, and always has. “Did he get the wrong ones?”

Translation: are the forged papers something the officials here will pick up on before they can get through. Aalya shakes her head, but can’t help unfolding them again one more time to look at them, quick but careful. They look like the papers the Jedi Order uses every time they need to send someone undercover, with their signatures scrawled into the heavy flimsiplast. 

Bly took her last name, since he doesn’t have one of his own, and Aayla resists the urge to press a fingertip over it, just as much as she’s been resisting the urge to lean back into his touch. Having feelings for her commander is one thing, but acting on them when he’s under her command, when he’s never shown more than respect for her, isn’t something she’ll ever do. 

“Fox is generally pretty good about things about that,” Bly says, faintly distracted, and leans over her shoulder. Aayla has to breathe carefully for a moment so that she doesn’t turn and kiss him. When he’s practically curled around her, hand _still_ on her back, weight against her lekku, it’s far more difficult not to than it should be. “If it were _Thire_ , I might be worried, but—”

The couple ahead of them are called forward for their interview, and Aayla glances up towards the official’s voice, then back down—

There’s a seal.

She freezes, suddenly able to see the difference. There’s a seal stamped onto the bottom of the flimsi, dark and official-looking. Not the stamp that the Order uses on undercover documents, but an actual clerk’s seal from one of the Coruscanti offices, which means—

“Bly,” she says, maybe a little dazed. “Bly, we’re _married_.”

“I know that,” Bly says, confused. “That’s what the documents are for. Uh.” He pauses, and Aayla can see the tips of his ears reddening out of the corner of his eye, the way he slants her a glance. “I know you probably would have preferred Lucky, but he’s only just coming off medical leave—”

“No, Bly,” Aayla says more insistently, and shoves the certificates at him. Lowers her voice, and hisses, “That is _not_ the Order’s clerk who approved this. That is a _real_ clerk who _actually filed our marriage certificate_.”

Bly’s face loses about three shades of color, and he twitches like he’s about the snatch the flimsis out of her hands. “Fox,” he grinds out between gritted teeth. “Karking bantha fodder son of a _malfunctioning cloning vat_ —”

That’s not anger radiating from him, though. That’s a desperate, burning surge of sheer _mortification_. 

“Bly?” Aayla asks, startled. 

“I’ll kill him for you, sir,” Bly says, conversationally. “Don’t worry, I’ll deal with this at the source and just murder him. If you want to order me to torture him for you, I’m happy to do that too.”

Aayla looks at him for a long minute, feeling the dismay, the irritation, and prickly irritation that’s directed solely at Fox, and then asks, “Bly, why would Fox want us to be married?”

Bly flushes, pointedly looking away. Against the red of his cheeks, the streak of gold stands out. Aayla’s colors, the ones she picked for her men, and which Bly inked onto his skin. Out of loyalty to the 327th, she’d thought, but—

But what _if_. 

“Because he’s tired of listening to me whine,” Bly says, rubbing a hand over his face. “About you. And General Fisto. This is my fault, sir. Sorry.”

“Kit?” Aayla raises a brow. “Bly, Kit and I haven’t seen each other in _months_. What has he done that’s annoyed you so?” Reaching out, she touches his shoulder, gentle pressure asking him to turn and look at her, and he does, instantly and without hesitation. 

“Yes, sir,” Bly says, and meets her eyes, but he looks on the very edge of miserable. “But you love him, don’t you?”

 _Oh_ , Aayla thinks, and smiles. Turns, reaches up, loops her arms around his neck, and she can feel the way his breath hitches, the sudden wash of disbelief and something _hot_ that flashes through him. 

“Kit will always be a friend,” she says, “but he knows precisely where my heart lies, Bly.”

Bly’s smile spreads, slow, startled, and he curls his fingers over her hips, pulls her in. His breath is warm against her cheek, and his gaze is stunned, _sweet_. The kiss is soft, slow, and Aayla leans into him, returns it, presses her fingertips into his skin and lets the tide of warm-wonder-disbelief- _desire_ curl over her like a wave. 

“I guess you don’t have to kill Commander Fox,” she says, impish, when they draw apart, and Bly laughs roughly, wraps his arms around her and picks her right up off her feet to spin her in a tight circle. Aayla laughs, grabbing his shoulders, and takes another deep kiss as he slows. 

“No, I’m _absolutely_ going to murder him,” Bly says. “I’m just going to say thank you first.”


End file.
